She arrived in the lobby with all the hurry of a murderer from a slasher movie. Meanwhile, I was left panting and wheezing from all the running around – one of the unfortunate side effects of having to haul about a living body. Another is not being able to phase through solid objects—at least not without leaving one’s host for dead—which meant I couldn’t evade my pursuer by scarpering through the nearest wall.
I had to get out of there though, so, aiming for the only exit available, I threw Maddox’s body at the front door and went to give Vallens the Irish goodbye. I already knew the combination to that lock, so I could bust through it in no time.
Unfortunately, Vallens had other ideas.
Springing into action, she dived into my path and cut me off, escape-proofing the place. I felt a gulp travel up Maddox’s throat and back down again.
‘Relax, Mister Fletcher,’ said Vallens. ‘You’re finally going to meet your maker.’
That’s what I was afraid of. I had a lot of work to do before I was back in His good graces. A lot of wrongs to right before I returned to the mothership. A premature trip would undo five years of good deeds and leave a big, fat, “aided and abetted a demonic entity” full stop at the end of an otherwise glittering career.
Vallens closed in on me, ready to twist the head off my meat suit and drink me down—
—When the door behind her swung open.
Filling the frame was DCI Stronge, looking suitably confused. ‘What’s in the hell is going on here?’ she asked, seeing her partner cowering before the bloody and surprisingly animate Ingrid Vallens.
‘Shoot her!’ I yelled, doing my best Maddox impression. ‘Shoot the demonic cow!’
Ever the pro, Stronge whipped out her Taser and planted a couple of high voltage darts in my attacker’s chest. Vallens convulsed, her legs locking as she keeled over backwards like a trust building exercise gone wrong.
Stronge took her finger off the Taser’s trigger and turned to me. ‘One more time... what the hell is going on here?’
I changed the subject with a question of my own. ‘How did you find me?’
‘You sounded weird before so I used your phone to track you.’
And thank God she had.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘She won’t stay down for long.’
Vallens was already starting to stir.
I was about to grab Stronge by the wrist and steer her outside when something dawned on me. If Stronge had been able to breeze in here unhindered, that must mean the magic cage surrounding the building was down.
Of course it was.
The protection magic was the combined product of the four elders, and since they were all dead now, the spell was broken. That meant the vault must be open too, which meant the seraphim sword was ripe for the plucking. If I could get to that I could put an end to Vallens and the winged monkey she was shacked up in. Two birds, one stone.
Speaking of the devil—pun most definitely intended—Vallens had recovered from the effects of the Taser and was hobbling to her feet already, her spine unfurling from a question mark to a very pointed exclamation mark.
‘Isn’t that our murder vic?’ asked Stronge, her brain finally catching up with her eyeballs.
The sight of Vallens stood before her had understandably thrown Stronge’s tidy mind into some degree of disarray.
‘No,’ I replied, weakly, ‘it’s her… um, evil twin.’
But Stronge’s attention was already fixed on the threat, which was coming her way and seeking a swift retribution.
‘Down on the ground, now!’ Stronge ordered.
Vallens failed to comply, leaving Stronge with no option but to pull out her baton and extend it with a deft flick of her wrist.
‘I wouldn’t do that…’ I started to say, but Stronge was not to be deterred.
She pulled back her arm and clouted Vallens across the side of the knee with the intention of immobilising her. The effect was altogether familiar. Stronge cursed as her cosh snapped in two, then cried out in pain as the shock of the impact exploded in her arm.
By way of a thank you, Vallens grabbed Stronge by the face, lifted her off her feet and flung her across the lobby. Plaster rained down as Stronge struck the wall and rolled to the ground. I rushed in and dived on her attacker, but was backhanded flat for my trouble. When I came round, I saw that Stronge had somehow managed to find her feet and was facing off against Vallens for a second time.
She’s a tough old bird, I’ll give her that.
Shrieking like a Valkyrie, Stronge swung at Vallens, raking her claws down her face and peeling away a big, red flap of skin. It hung there, revealing what lay beneath; a demonic skull studded with one incongruous blue eye. The eye’s partner had been punctured by Stronge’s nails and was dribbling like a split grape.
‘I’m going to make you pay for that,’ Vallens snarled, plucking the ruined eye from its orbit and flicking it to the ground with a squelch.
The hollow socket flared orange and the jaw of her skull mouth chattered as she paced towards her attacker. Stronge wasn’t even given a chance to freak out before her assailant pimp-slapped her to the ground.
Stronge was out cold.
Vallens took a step backwards and cocked her head to one side to admire her handiwork. Satisfied, she pressed the heel of a boot onto Stronge’s throat and went to crush her windpipe.
‘Oi!’ I shouted, getting Vallens’ attention. ‘What am I, chopped liver?’
She removed her foot from Stronge’s neck and turned to me, face flap swinging. Her eyes burned like a pair of hot coals.
I took off up the lobby’s spiral staircase, running faster than a gambler from a bookie. With Vallens on my tail, I pegged it down a corridor I was already intimate with and pushed through the door marked PRIVATE.
I arrived in the Order’s clubhouse. The room was lit by the familiar, flickering flame of witchfire that burned eternally in its hammered iron brazier.
Once again, I went looking for a weapon to defend myself with, but came up empty. I was hoping to find something of use in one of the room’s musty display cabinets, but all I found there were trinkets: crystal balls, a clutch of sinister-looking ventriloquist’s dummies, and an Edison cylinder containing a scratchy sound recording of Harry Houdini.
Vallens appeared in the doorway looking like a supermodel that stepped into a Brundle Pod with Skeletor’s ugly cousin.
She had me cornered.
Nothing I could do now but plant my feet and fight.
‘Get ready to die for the second time,’ Vallens gloated.
‘You know, I’m really starting to think twice about you and me having any sort of romantic future.’
She came at me whipcrack fast and landed a punch in my gut so hard I’m surprised Maddox didn’t spew me up.
I managed to dodge the next blow, only for her fist to quest past me and through one of the display cabinets. I made an umbrella of my arms as glass rained down and all around. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a fan of circus throwing knives inside the busted cabinet. Seeing they were up for grabs, I reached in and plucked one out.
Vallens came at me again and I slashed her, sawing a wet flap of skin off her arm.
‘Bastard!’ she shrieked.
Beast mode activated, her fingertips split open and ten huge talons emerged from the ragged ends, absolutely devastating Vallens’ manicure.
I took a couple of steps to the side, continuing to ward her off with the throwing blade as I attempted to skirt her to the exit. Vallens was smart though, and circled around to block me.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ she seethed.
Vallens tore the place apart, picking up whole cabinets and hurling them at me, smothering the place in glass and debris. At one point she managed to upset the Order’s brazier, which tipped over and spread a pool of witchfire across the floor.
I ducked and weaved, stabbing and hacking whenever Vallens made it within arm’s reach. I was quick, but compared to her souped-u
p demon body, I moved slower than a sundial’s shadow. The fact was, all I was doing was buying myself a little time, there was no way I was going to come out of this one on top. After a spirited bout of evasion I found myself all out of puff, which gave Vallens all the excuse she needed to swoop in for the kill.
She lashed out, but I managed to throw an arm up just in time to defend myself from the blow. I heard a noise I mistook for a gunshot and realised she’d snapped one of Maddox’s arms like a twig. His agony was mine to bear though, and I collapsed to the ground, clutching onto the broken limb.
Witchfire licked at the walls and smoke choked the air, lending the room a distinct Hades vibe. As I lay on the floor, writhing in pain, Vallens leapt into the air like something from The Matrix and came down on me with one knee. I don’t know how I managed it, but I succeeded in rolling onto my front just as she landed and put a crater in the ground beside me.
Undaunted, Vallens grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and clawed me across the back with her talons. The only reason Maddox didn’t end up with ventilated kidneys was because of the stab vest he was wearing.
I squirmed and tried to roll over to face Vallens, but she had me pinned. I was about to give up the ghost—again, the pun is deliberate—when I saw the peephole Vallens’ knee had put through the floor, and got an idea.
It was a risk, but at this point Maddox was dead anyway if I didn’t at least try.
Leaving Maddox at the mercy of my attacker, I exited his body and phased through the floor to the room below.
Up above, I heard Vallens cackle. ‘You really are a wretched coward, Fletcher.’
‘Are you coming to get me or what?’ I yelled back, as I scanned the room I now found myself in, desperately searching for the object I’d gone down there in search of.
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘As soon as I’m done gutting this pig.’
I was afraid of that. I needed to rile her up some, and when it comes to pissing off the fairer sex, I’m no slouch. ‘Pretty good of the Order to take on a lady,’ I said. ‘Shame you had to go and kill them all – that’s going to set the women’s movement back a few years.’ I could hear Vallens upstairs, growling like the devil's hungry belly. The heckling was working. ‘Maybe you should have stuck you what you know,’ I went on, ‘keeping your mouth shut and looking pretty. You’d make a great magician’s assistant, I reckon. I know I’d want to saw you in half!’
Vallens punched through the ceiling and came diving down at me, shrieking like a 3 am car alarm—
—Only to find herself skewered on the business end of an enchanted sword.
The seraphim sword, to be exact, with me holding the other end of it.
Face contorted like a gargoyle, Vallens slid slowly down the length of the blade until the sword’s crossguard met her sternum.
Vallens’ nose met mine and I grinned back at her.
‘You… bastard...’ she hissed.
‘Sorry, Ingrid, no end of date kiss for you.’
It was only thanks to her cracking a hole between floors that I’d realised the Order’s clubhouse was situated directly above the vault, and with no magical protection to stop me getting in there, I’d been able to slip right through. Leaving Maddox behind was a calculated risk, something I had to do so I could get to the sword and goad Vallens into coming at me.
‘I’ll kill you!’ she screeched, and it was no idle threat.
Vallens’ skull face ripped free of her skin and chomped at my throat.
Her teeth snapped down next to my jugular with nothing to spare. And I do mean absolutely nothing; if ghosts we able to collect dirt, she would have cleaned my neck. She gnashed at me again and again, eyes blazing, flecks of grey spittle flying from her skull mouth. If I didn’t act fast, she was going to bite my head off like a gingerbread man.
I widened my stance and white-knuckled the sword’s hilt, straining to hold her at bay.
‘...Kill you!’ she said, as if it needed repeating.
I grunted and twisted the blade, her mouth shot wide open – wide enough to swallow a baby whole. She let loose an ear-piercing scream that shattered the glass cases pressed against the room’s walls, then the sulphurous fire burning in her empty eye socket guttered and died.
‘Goodnight, Ingrid.’
Vallens went slack and fell to the ground, where she lay splayed and still. As I watched, her body began to flake and disintegrate, crumbling away like autumn leaves. Vallens was gone, and the soul feaster too, off on a tandem ride to hell.
21
The thing about witchfire is that it acts differently to regular fire. The stuff the blokes with the yellow hats and hoses put out isn’t known for being predictable, but compared to witchfire it operates right out of a textbook. Magic fire spreads according to its own laws, unbeholden by such trifling matters as physics, least of all gravity.
When Vallens upset the Order of the Eternal flame’s brazier, she unleashed a blaze that burned their headquarters down to the ground. It was only through quick thinking and good fortune that I tossed the seraphim sword, climbed back inside Maddox’s body and scooped up Stronge before the place was razed.
The paramedics rushed the two detectives to the nearest hospital, where they were treated for smoke inhalation and various secondary injuries.
Not long after she was admitted, I went to pay Stronge a visit. I decided it was high time me and had had a talk – real talk, as the yanks are fond of saying. Greeting her with a familiar face would have been my first choice, but since my usual mule, Mark, was still in pokey, I had to improvise. I arrived at the hospital with the intention of possessing a nurse and passing along my message that way, but the second I entered Stronge’s ward she sat up from her bed like she’d seen a ghost, which of course she had.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, making a crucifix of some hospital cutlery.
This I was not expecting.
‘You can see me?’ I said, pointing at my face.
‘Of course I can see you.’
‘Well that’s… odd.’
‘I mean… I can see you, but… what are you?’
‘I’m a ghost.’
So now it seemed Stronge could actually see me. The real me. I’d heard of this happening before. Sometimes when people have a traumatic experience with the Uncanny, they’ve been known to develop The Sight. It’s like it triggers something in their mind. Like it busts open a locked door.
I took a couple of steps towards her, hands held up in surrender. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘I’m a friend.’
I took a seat on the edge of her bed and she swept a hand through me.
‘You know, in the ghost community, that’s considered quite rude,’ I explained.
‘I know you,’ she wheezed, her lungs still feeling the effects of the smoke. ‘I do, don’t I? Where do I know you from?’ she said, studying my face.
‘A few years back you solved my murder. My name’s Jake Fletcher.’
I’ll save us both some time and summarise how the meat of the conversation sandwich went down. I explained how I was a ghost that had, up until now, been carjacking a former bully to help her solve crimes. I explained the purpose of my investigation and broke down Ingrid Vallens’ scheme, being extra sure to let her know that the guy she’d banged up in the model’s place was in no way complicit.
It was a lot for Stronge to unpack, but she handled it well, all things considered.
‘So, the person I’ve known all these years is really your… what do you call it…?
‘My meat suit. Mark’s just a vessel. I’m the genuine article.’
Stronge slapped her forehead. ‘You didn’t even change your name! Why didn’t I make the connection before? Why didn’t I realise you were the same Jake Fletcher as the one on the slab five years ago?’
I chuckled. ‘It is a bit of a stretch: a dead man coming back as a ghost and setting himself up as a paranormal P.I. Don’t be too hard on yourself about it. Even Quincy wouldn’t have put those
pieces together.’
‘Really? Quincy is your go-to? Why not Sherlock Holmes?’
‘What’s wrong with Quincy?’
‘Who goes with Quincy?!’
We stopped and stared at each for a moment, before breaking out in laughter. I’d just revealed the guy who’d been helping her out all these years was a ghost, and here we were arguing over fictional sleuths.
Stronge relaxed and rested her head on her pillow. ‘So, what do we do now?’ she asked.
‘Well, the good news is that you’re not one of the hoi polloi anymore.’
‘How’s that?’
‘You’ve had a peek behind the curtain now, which means you’ve graduated from being a normal to what we call an “Insider.”’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean? Like I’m in some kind of secret society?’
‘Exactly. Really, really secret.’
‘Let me get this straight; I’m supposed to stay quiet about all the things I’ve seen? About ghosts and magic and skull-faced demons?’
I aimed a gunfinger at her. ’Spot on.’
She shook her head. ‘Forget it. People need to know about this stuff.’
‘Trust me,’ I replied, ‘they really don’t. People are scared of the dark. They freak out at the sound of their plumbing. Can you imagine what they’d do if they found out vampires were real?’
‘Vampires are real?’ Stronge screeched, sitting bolt upright.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘You take my point?’
She sighed and ran a hand through her bob. ‘What about Maddox?’ she asked. ‘He’ll know.’
‘He won’t, I’ve already seen to that, and I need you to help me keep it that way. Not a word to him about any of this. Your partner’s had it out for me since day one – you tell him I’m a ghost and he’ll be Googling proton packs before you finish your sentence.’
‘What about my superiors then? What do I say to them?’
Fresh Hell: An Uncanny Kingdom Urban Fantasy (The Ghosted Series Book 1) Page 10
